Am I the only one with mixed feelings towards Scarlett Thomas' PopCo?
I really enjoyed the first three quarters of the book. I have enjoyed math fiction before, and this particular book also included treasure, mystery, love triangles...I really enjoyed it up until the point where some of the characters explain that in order to defeat rampant consumerism everyone needs to make a shift towards veganism.

I'm not sure if that's the author's personal take, or if that was just a character device, but it raised my eyebrow. Also, while the book makes a compelling point about how companies do market research and how they use their products to control consumers, I think it took too much of an all or nothing stance. There was also a really annoying scene where the main character gets totally disgusted when her boss suggests she take some antibiotics for an illness lasting several days. She sneers at him and says all she needs are her flower remedies and her miso soup.

Number one---without marketing or advertising, this young lady would never have sold her book. Furthermore, she capitalizes on MANY trends in her writing, with the veganism and homeopathy. Market research, anyone? The very thing you're bitching about?

Also, while I agree that we are often too quick to pop pills, some of us rely on pills to do a little thing called surviving from day to day.

I wouldn't have minded if the main character had been more moderate towards the whole thing, but I came away feeling as though the point of the novel was that we should eschew all capitalism all become herbalists. Capitalism isn't always evil. And herbalists can still get staph infections and need modern medical treatment. It's OK to dabble in both.

I may be whining about a point the author wasn't intending to make, and maybe some of the extreme opinions were written to be taken with a grain of salt. However, I wonder if anyone else felt that way after reading the book or if I am the only one who got this final message from it.

It's a good book---I'd recommend it to a friend. I'd just be a little cautious with what seemed (to me) to be an extreme political message.

Snow, snow
Snow snow snow!
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow!



Yeah!

Of course, now I have to drive to work in it. Huh.

Did you know comedian Frank Caliendo has a house here in Avon Lake? I mean, he probably doesn't live in my particular neighborhood, since we live in the "cottage district," which is probably more correctly the "tacky part" of town, or to put a more fine point on it "the part of town with affordable houses that is also a full fifteen minutes closer to my work."

I think this is awesome.

Avon Lake needs more humor. We have people calling the police because other people are playing ukeleles. I'm sure the cops love dealing with that sort of massive waste of time. Dudes, this is the AL. It's not like, Compton. Let the ukelele be. I once saw two kids on a bicycle playing a BANJO, and I just smiled and waved. Oooooh, imagine the next crime wave: the scooter rider playing a double bass, maybe?

It's fall/winter, and that means it's the time of year when my skin rebels and acts crazy. I have the face of a ten year old with the complexion of a forty year old. Hot! I think it's from having mostly dry skin...as the weather gets bizarre and changey, my skin dries out and gets tired and old looking, which shows more bags and dark circles, and when I try to counteract it by slapping some lotion on my cheeks it just sits on top and looks greasy and makes me break out. It's like I've finally hit puberty, only instead of getting breasts or cheekbones I've gotten acne and a big ass. Hey! Story of my life!

I got tired of people at work asking me if I was exhausted or pregnant, and so today I emailed two very learned lady friends about my problem. They suggested a cheap and effective course of action, and so I was off to Walgreens to buy something with mint in it and something light yet absorbent. I suppose if those were the only two directions I'd been given I could have returned with a pack of gum and some pantiliners, which is why when the teenage boy working in the cosmetics section of Walgreens asked if he could help me, I just giggled and said I had it under control. Yes, I do think it's weird that they have a guy working in cosmetics. Sure, they have a guy selling makeup at MAC downtown, but he's, well...flaming. This boy was not. This is Avon Lake, Ohio. Our homosexual boys are more the cashmere sweater type, not the lipgloss and Miss Sixty jeans type. And I'm pretty sure this boy was neither.

Anyway, now I'm sitting in my kitchen with my hair all back in a sexy (translation: totally not sexy) headband and thick green minty goo smeared all over my face. It actually seems to be working. Halfway through my little routine I noticed a lot of smooth, non-forty-year-old skin glowing through, so I'm pretty sure I just need to pay a little better attention during the winter and drink more fluids. In fact, if I'd taken better care of my skin in my late teens I probably would have had a much better time of it. I always just thought I had bad skin. Maybe I was really just lazy. I mean, I've always been bad at this girl stuff. I don't know how to style hair, and I'm not really into doing the full face of makeup thing unless I look like ass on any particular morning. Which I suppose I do EVERY morning---I guess I just think that makeup or no, an assface morning is going to be an assface morning, half inch of eyeliner or no. Also, I'm bad at coordinating colors and wearing jewelry and accessories and shopping for trends without looking like a tool. In short, I am awkward and very midwestern.

I realize I have just wasted about ten minutes on posting about giving myself a facial, and that given the other issues in the world this whole post is pretty frivolous. Well, you know what? So am I. I am done today. Me no make blog go! Brain no want more tired.

I am sooooo tired. Like, drag ass, feeling sick because I've woken up at two am tired. Only it's NOT two am. Currently it is six am, and I went to bed at about 10:30. Why am I so tired? Fucking daylight savings time! My body thinks that I'm staying up till three am, only I am clearly not. It's just that I arrive at work in the dawn, and I leave and arrive home in total darkness. Now I'm all confused.

And here's the thing: I hate the sun. It's not the sight of the sun I am missing, it is the brightness. It can be overcast and still bright enough for you to know you're not wandering out at three am.

I hate this. I'm not tired once I get to work, and I arrived home yesterday energetic enough to attempt to fix the washer (fail) and to handwash two loads and then try to dry them, thus causing the dryer to stop working as well (fail). I played with the dog, I finished reading a book, I knit on my sweater...then BOOM! At nine, my eyes started to close.

Screw this. I need to hibernate, like a big old bear.

This morning we arrived home after taking the boy cats to get fixed, and Stephen Tyler Jr. had destroyed a crossword puzzle book, a newspaper, and my cell phone. Two days ago he'd eaten three of my books (including my beloved Amber Chronicles) and my GLASSES. I have a spare pair, but they're kind of old and incorrect. So hurrah, waiting to get reimbursed from my Cigna flex spending account so I can get a new pair.

Today we are going to Verizon to get a replacement phone, and then we are going to the pet store to buy Steve a crate. I've never had a crate dependent dog, but if he can't be trusted not to eat things that are technically not food, than he can't be left alone in the house. We thought he'd improve after he was neutered but he's only gotten worse, and he still howls and whines when we leave, so he's apparently just a high anxiety dog. Hopefully the cage will let him feel more secure while also protecting our electronics. I know many many people crate their dogs when they leave the house, and that many dogs like having their own space, but it still sucks not being able to trust him.

And people wonder why I don't want actual KIDS.

This morning I felt ill. I've been sort of borderline sick all week, and it culminated in a few glorious moments this morning, tapering off until about one in the afternoon.

Needless to say, I did not go in to work. I called my boss and left a message, but no one got it, so around 8:30 I got a phone call from my friend Michelle, who was wondering where I was. I should have remembered the J-Dog does not check his VM until it fills up and starts spilling over into mine. Ah, well.

Then I got a call from Bryan, informing me that my laptop had died. My NaNoWriMo novel is on this puppy, and I had not backed it up because I am a bimbo.

I searched for awhile until I found my sweater pattern, and started knitting on the pink sweater, while laying on the couch feeling all nauseated and nibbling on saltines. I watched Sex and the City for awhile, the part where Samantha discovers she has breast cancer and needs to go through chemo, and her hot young boyfriend Smith walks in on her shaving her head and he takes the buzzers and shaves HIS golden locks before shaving HER head. I thought of our friend Cat, who just went through chemo for a bone marrow transplant, and how we saw her after she shaved her head (she still looked awesome, for the record). So I cried a lot. Then I thought of failing my NaNoWriMo goal, and I cried some more. Then I napped and had some tea.

THEN, I got a call from my mother, with the news that my best friend Vikki is in the hospital because she lost vision in her eye due to a tumor pressing on a nerve. WHAT???? Needless to say, the next twenty minutes or so were pretty bad. I pulled myself together, called the hospital and managed to get in touch with her. Turns out it is NOT a tumor *whew* and the chances of her needing any sort of brain surgery whatsoever are "pretty fucking slim to none." Apparently the most likely scenario is that she has a condition mostly common in young girls, and she will be getting out of the hospital either tonight or over the weekend. (After the relief set in, I could mock her about her little kid condition.)

Then I talked to Skip about how I am a whore and do not back anything up and how I'm bad with computers. He walked me through taking out the laptop battery, blowing on it, and re-inserting it. Huh. It seems to be working OK now. Knock on wood.

So today has been a day of ups and downs. It's ended up much better than it was around two in the afternoon.

New rule: when calling me about a friend who has a neurological condition, never use the word "tumor." This is the SECOND time I've mistakenly thought a friend has had brain cancer. Maybe I'm just a worrier. Or maybe it's because my friends act like there's something wrong with their brains every day. Something to think about! But seriously, no more talking about brain cancer.

Today I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business and drinking coffee, when I got an email. "The post office has returned a few items due to there being too many papers in small sized envelopes. Please use the larger sizes for motions and bulk mail."

I've been mailing things the same way for awhile now, so I thought it was pretty stupid of the rules to change AGAIN, but who am I to go against the U. S. Post office? I took everything I had to mail out and made sure things were in oversized envelopes and proceeded to work on something more important.

Ten minutes later, the office administrator was at my desk. "Your mail is being returned!" she said, in the same tone of voice one may have used in fifth grade to say "oooh, you're in trooouuuuble."

"I know. I got your email, and I fixed it. Look, I'm using the more middley-sized envelopes now." (Apparently they are called 11s. Who knew?)

"OK. It's just that the post office is going to return things that are jammed into small envelopes."

"I know...it's just that these were all borderline things, and they've been mailed out for months, so now I'm changing my procedure. Again. Problem solved."

About a minute and a half later one of my friends who works in ops walked up with some blank envelopes. They had directions on them, such as "1-7 pages" and "fold in half." I gave him a look.

"Your stuff is getting returned" he said. "Didn't you see these in the copy room?"

"No." I said, indicating the stacks behind me. "Perhaps because all this work I was doing blocked the little signs."

He laughed. "Well, just so you're aware, this is the policy. I know it went out fine before, but we need to stick to this now."

"Already fixed." I indicated my "out" pile."

A few hours later, my supervisor walked up to my desk with a subpoena and a mangled return envelope. "Did you know this was returned because there were too many papers in the envelope?"

"Yes. And I've been using the next size up."

"OK. It's just that we need to use all big envelopes from now on."

"Yes. I've read the email, and I talked to (lady) and (ops guy). See all these labels? All for big envelopes. I'm good."

She laughed. "You're probably tired of having this conversation."

"Yeah, a little."

As SOON as she left my desk, my friend from two areas away stood up. "Oh, Stephanie? Did you hear your mail was returned? Did you know we have bigger envelopes?"

"I feel like stabbing someone in the face." I told her.

"Oh!" She looked surprised, than grabbed a large envelope. "Here, hit this."

So I punched the envelope. Then I tore it into little tiny pieces and threw them all over her desk. I felt slightly better.

My throat hurts.

Last night I started drinking glass after glass of water, thinking that maybe I was extra thirsty from a combination of a salty dinner and all the wine my parents brought over, but it appears I may actually be coming down with a cold. It wouldn't be surprising. There's a flu going around my office, and I don't have the best immune system on the planet. Then I thought maybe my throat is sore because of time spent in the basement where the furnace is located, but it's no dryer down here than it is upstairs.

I'm fresh out of whiskey. Maybe I'll actually have to take an actual *gasp* cold remedy from the pharmacy for my throat.

Totally unrelated side question---why are there no ceiling tiles down here? I just stretched my neck up to feel my glands, and I noticed all of the tiles in the drop ceiling have been removed, presumably when the plumbing was fixed. But where did they go?

The title of this post is actually the title of my first chapter of my NaNoWriMo novel.
It's entitled "Paper Tiger," and the genre is...well...bad. I'm having a good time though, and that's what counts.

I'm also now halfway through the back of my pink sweater, and I'm surprised at how fast it's going. When I actually knit on it. (Sort of like my novel going more quickly when I actually bother to work on it, zing!)

It's become pretty clear that I will be winning no literary medals. Nor will I win any knitting awards.

November will be a month where I celebrate my mediocrity. Yeah!

Avon Lake high school football beat Midview High school football. I own a house and pay taxes in Avon Lake, but I graduated from Midview. How am I supposed to feel? ARRRRGH!

I just finished watching the Sex Pistols on TV, and I realize that while their music (meaning their instrumental parts) is really not technically difficult in any way (nor is it the type of music I would ordinarily choose to listen to), they still sound a million times better than the bands who try to BE the Sex Pistols. I imagine that's because the youngsters try to take their crappy garage music too seriously, whereas the Sex Pistols are all "whatever! We're catchy! And our drummer kind of looks like a 50 year old Lance Bass! But we're still freaking cool and we smile when we play!" Take THAT, young men in girls' jeans! Maybe you should don a harlequinesque shirt and grin in the face of 4/4 time instead of hiding behind your long bangs/noveau mullet.

Also, on Friday, while I was working on my floor (because my desk was covered in files) I got a call from my boss. Thinking he had a problem with the Court and needed something immediately, I answered while trying to clear the debris from off my keyboard. Turns out he just wanted to talk CELEBRITY GOSSIP for five minutes. Is this normal? Do 34 year old men routinely call their assistants to discuss Britney Spears and to compare who spends what on insurance? Regardless, it was the high point of my day. Sometimes I really love my job.